Bring Me Your Midnight(23)

“It was meant as a joke, but it…it looks nice.” He clears his throat and takes a step back.

My cheeks burn and I hope he can’t see the heat that’s spreading across my skin. The petals feel like velvet against my fingertips, and the question I haven’t been able to let go of since last night tumbles around in my mind. Why doesn’t it hurt?

I bring my hand down to my side, ignoring the question for now. There are more pressing matters.

“Can we just get this over with?” I ask, forcing my voice to stay steady.

“Whatever my queen commands,” he says, bowing, his tone ensuring I know I’m being made fun of this time. I shake my head.

“What do I need to do?”

“I thought we’d play with the tides,” he says. It’s impossible to miss the way his eyes light up when he says it, the way his voice lifts in anticipation. He’s disagreeable, his face nothing but hard lines and sharp edges, his voice constantly laced with annoyance, and yet beneath it all is a boy who deeply loves his magic.

I suppose that’s one thing we have in common.

“Will that cause more damage to the sea?”

“No,” he says. “Why do you think you’ll die if you don’t use your magic?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer. “It’s a gift, and it’s meant to be used. Spells and charms burn away the magic once they’re cast. The reason your rushes are so damaging is because the magic is just sitting in the sea, restless and edgy. That’s why the currents are getting so much worse.” He’s back to being angry, his words pointed and accusatory.

“I understand,” I say.

“Do you?”

His question hangs in the space between us, and I breathe it in, let it settle in my core. Then I level my gaze at him. “Yes.”

“Good. Let’s get started.” He takes off his shoes and walks toward the shore until the waves roll over his feet. I do the same.

“High magic is all about balance. It requires respect and patience from the one who wields it. It requires discipline. The only time you ever come close to using a significant amount of magic is during your rush, a ritual that fully takes over you. But you can’t lose yourself in high magic the way you do during a rush. You have to constantly assess how the world around you is responding to the energy you’re using. It’s rhythmic, just like the tides. If you learn only one thing tonight, let it be this: magic isn’t about you. It’s about the Earth.”

He lets his statement hang in the air, and I’m shocked when the words cause something in me to stir, as if that truth has always been inside me and I’m just now realizing it.

“Let’s start with something easy,” he says.

My heart slams against my rib cage, so loud and fast I wonder if Wolfe can hear it over the sound of the waves.

“Do you feel the breeze coming off the water?” he asks.

“Yes.” Fear has stolen my voice, making the word sound rough and quiet.

“It’s easier to work with things that already exist around us. Much easier than creating something from nothing. Now, close your eyes,” he says.

I watch him, wary and nervous, scared and uncertain. I don’t think I can do it.

“You’re safe,” he assures me. “You’re not doing anything unnatural. As much as you want to resist it, this magic—what we’re doing tonight—lives in you. Close your eyes.”

I want to argue with that, but he’s trying to help me, so I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I can still feel his stare on me in the emptiness of my stomach and the hammering of my heart, the goose bumps on my skin and the heat of my neck.

“We’re going to let the wind carry us above the water.”

Levitation. My eyes fly open, and I shake my head. “Absolutely not,” I say. “I can’t do that.”

“Why?”

“Because… because it’s so obviously…” My words trail off.

“It’s so obviously high magic?”

I nod.

“Yeah, well, that’s what we’re here to do. Just think—if you’re successful, you’ll never have to use it again.” Something changes in his expression when he says it, as if he thinks it’s the saddest thing he’s ever heard. Then he takes a step closer to me, and another, and another, until he’s so close I can smell the spicy scent of his soap, see the moonlight glisten off each strand of hair. “What should scare you most about tonight isn’t that you’re about to use high magic, Mortana. What should scare you most is that you’re going to want to use it again.”

I stare at him, my palms beginning to sweat. “You’re wrong.”

“Not about this,” he says. He watches me for another moment, then speaks again. “Moving on. You’re inherently connected to every living thing on this Earth. That is our role, and as soon as you learn to recognize that connection, you can start practicing high magic.”

I nod along to his words. When I’m working in the perfumery, I don’t have to spend time wondering which flowers or herbs will work best with the kind of magic I’m infusing into them. I just know. My hands reach for the things I need and leave the things I don’t. It isn’t something I think about. It’s something I do.